


toothpaste kisses

by callunavulgari



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autumn, F/F, Genderswap, Half-Sibling Incest, Next Life fic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How was tutoring?” Roxas asks around the filter of her cigarette, wrenching at the gear stick until it grates slowly into reverse. She huffs, fighting with it again when it comes time to shift into drive. “We should go to the park,” Xion says, slumping back into her seat, wary of the spring that pokes through the upholstery near her knee.</p><p>Roxas laughs, taking another drag as she pulls out onto the main road. “That bad, huh?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	toothpaste kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caseyvalhalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caseyvalhalla/gifts).



> Casey V asked for Xion/GS!Roxas for my femmeslash writing meme, and I was all too happy. I got about two paragraphs into a much darker fic possibly featuring heroin overdoses before I realized I wanted to write something happy. Forgive the brief Axel/Roxas tangent. I apparently can't write a fic with one of them in it without at least mentioning the other. (Also this way I can potentially set myself up for an Axel/Roxas/Xion sequel, shhhh.) Title shares it's name with an adorable song by The Maccabees.

The leaves are scattered in red and gold piles around town, the trees already halfway to being bare. There are old, rusted halloween decorations peeking out from behind various curtains and grinning jack o'lanterns haunting porches. The mall fifteen minutes away from her sleepy little neighborhood has a Hot Topic in it, and unsurprisingly, there are already Nightmare Before Christmas merchandise in the windows.  
  
Cobwebs cling to trees, skeletons dance in the wind, and all the restaurants have brought back their selection of pumpkin flavored goodies.   
  
Looking around them, most people would agree that it’s definitely fall. Autumn has struck with a vengeance and spoiled teenagers wielding their daddy’s credit cards are toting around pumpkin spice lattes like they’re status symbols.  
  
The only problem is that it’s a few days into October and one last heat wave has struck their town, shrouding everyone in a perpetual layer of sweat and ill tempers. The humidity strangles you if you’re unlucky to be out in it without the bliss of air condition, which Roxas frequently is considering that her car is a beat up elderly Oldsmobile from 1984 that she inherited from her grandfather when she turned sixteen. The air conditioning doesn’t work, which is bad enough, but the driver and passenger windows are also permanently stuck firmly up, so if she wants a breeze she has to crawl into the backseat during a stoplight and jiggle the back window until it’s loose enough to roll down.  
  
She’d been looking forward to autumn this year too, especially after the grueling summer that they’d had.   
  
But nope, no nice chilly fall breezes for her. She got to wait in a stifling car for an hour, damp hair clinging uncomfortably to the back of her neck, chain-smoking doing absolutely nothing to improve her mood as she kept a watchful eye on the back door of the school, waiting for the familiar head of her half sister to emerge from her tutoring session.  
  
A lot of people tended to think that they were twins, despite the two year age difference. At eighteen, Roxas is ridiculously short for her age, and at sixteen, Xion is still optimistically growing, putting them both at a not-so-nice 5’1. They’re similar enough in looks, she supposes. They both have the same heart-shaped face, the same small button nose, the same basic bone structure.   
  
The similarity ends there though. Xion’s pale, pale, pale—supposedly inherited from the Irish-American father that she’d never met—her dark hair a stark contrast against all that milky skin. Most people that pale didn’t naturally have hair that black, so everyone assumed she dyed it, that her natural hair was just as blonde and unruly as Roxas’. Roxas takes more after their mother, her skin a smooth caramel. Their eyes, while both blue, are vastly different shades—Roxas getting the bright, summer sky blue that most kids their age lusted after, Xion getting the dark, muddied blue of oncoming twilight.  
  
All that though, is nothing compared to how profoundly opposite their personalities are.  
  
They make it work though, because as much as Xion gets on her nerves sometimes, she’s also Roxas’ best friend in the entire world—some connection thrumming between them that feels age old and important.  
  
When she was fifteen, Roxas met a woman named Lea at a bus stop outside of Paris, France. She’d lost the rest of her french class in the crowd outside of Notre Dame, wandering the streets for almost an hour before she’d collapsed onto the bench and curled in on herself, sobbing and wishing more than anything that she hadn’t given her knapsack to Sora to rummage through earlier.   
  
Lea had found her like that, murmuring soft and soothing in a language that Roxas understood maybe five words of, shushing her and rubbing her back until Roxas uncurled and blinked up at her. The other woman must have been somewhere between early to mid twenties, clad in some smart little number that accentuated her smooth creamy thighs, a leather jacket draped around her shoulders. She’d smiled with lips painted the same vibrant red as her hair, green eyes soft and sympathetic. She must have asked a question, her head cocked inquisitively, and Roxas had bitten her lip, mangling the french language with her clumsy tongue as she tried to tell her that she didn’t really speak the language that well.  
  
The woman had laughed—a loud, braying sound that didn’t match her appearance, and responded in thickly accented english, “I said, pretty girls like you shouldn’t be crying at a bus stop.”  
  
Roxas had blushed, imagining what the other one woman could have seen in her—just a red-faced, pimply american teenager—too skinny by far and still wearing training bras because she couldn’t even fit into A-cups yet.   
  
“Why were you crying?” Lea asked her, crossing her ankles neatly, stiletto pumps that did nothing to hide the blisters on her feet scraping against the grimy concrete.   
  
“I’m lost,” she’d said, and the woman smiled, her cheeks crinkling like they wanted to dimple but couldn’t quite manage it.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Lea told her, shrugging her jacket off and sliding it onto Roxas’ shoulders. “We’ll get you home.”  
  
The connection had been there too, some long-forgotten emotion sparking in a cobwebbed corner of Roxas’ heart as they passed beneath Paris streetlamps, Lea kicking off her pumps and walking barefoot once they’d gotten to an area that didn’t have glass littering the sidewalks.  
  
It had been a strange night, one that she still hadn’t forgotten, three years later and living thousands of miles away. She wonders if things might have been different if that spark had bloomed to life in her chest—if she’d been older and hadn’t lived on the other side of the world.   
  
Maybe one day she’ll find out, though she very much doubts it.  
  
She’s just considering moving to the shade of the big maple tree just outside the front door, no shits given for the no-smoking sign nailed to its trunk, when Xion staggers out of the doors, clutching a bundle of text books to her chest.   
  
She’s wearing something she probably pulled from Namine’s closet today—blue ballet flats and a white dress that just reaches her knees, a lightweight sweater tied around her hips like they’re back in elementary school again.   
  
She isn’t dainty about sliding into the car, all her graceful poise gone out the window now that it’s just her and Roxas, dropping into her seat like a pallet of bricks and tossing her books carelessly into the backseat, already sweating. Both back windows are still rolled down, so there’ll probably be a breeze once they get going at least.  
  
“How was tutoring?” Roxas asks around the filter of her cigarette, wrenching at the gear stick until it grates slowly into reverse. She huffs, fighting with it again when it comes time to shift into drive.   
  
“We should go to the park,” Xion says, slumping back into her seat, wary of the spring that pokes through the upholstery near her knee.  
  
Roxas laughs, taking another drag as she pulls out onto the main road. “That bad, huh?”  
  
Obligingly, she makes the turn that’ll take them to the place that’s been their park since they were in the third grade, crowing loudly as they tried their damndest to avoid the ‘lava’ on the ground. It used to be a big place for the neighborhood kids to hang out during the day, but now it’s run down—the metal on the jungle gym rusted through, wood so water-damaged that no one dares to take their kids there anymore. For the most part it’s just them and a few of the stoner kids who hang around after nightfall, so she has no idea why the city hasn’t torn it down.  
  
The parking lot is so cracked and weather-worn that you have to guess where the parking spaces are, not because there’ll be other cars pulling in, but because cops are assholes and if they’re bored enough, will hand out tickets for not parking correctly.   
  
The grass is crunchy and yellow, still parched from the summer drought, and it crackles beneath their feet as they head for the little copse of trees a few feet away from the little stream the park overlooks—their spot, since Xion was still a lowly seventh grader who needed a quiet place to escape the wailing of their mother and her latest boy toy.  
  
They’d passed many summers that way, leaned up against tree trunks, reading or doing homework, Roxas’ head pillowed in Xion’s lap, soft fingers combing gently through her hair. They’d read each other Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings, quizzed each other with spanish and french flashcards, dipped their ankles in the stream and poked at the crawdads with their toes.  
  
Xion collapses into the grass, limbs spread every which way. From her angle, Roxas has a perfect view of plain gray panties. She rolls her eyes, using the toe of her boot to nudge her sister’s legs back together. Xion slants a glare up at her, lips drawn into a pout that once upon a time, would have made Roxas melt into a puddle of goo. She knows better now.  
  
“It’s just us here,” Xion sighs, yanking up a clump of dead grass and dropping it into her lap when Roxas sits beside her, knees folded together indian style. Roxas blows a raspberry at her, brushing the grass and dirt off her jeans.   
  
“You’re gonna get grass stains on that,” she remarks as Xion wriggles around until she’s comfortable.  
  
“I don’t care right now, I really don’t.”  
  
“So,” Roxas says when the silence stretches between them, birdcall and the burbling of the stream the only thing to ease the white noise. “Why’d you wanna come here?”  
  
Xion shrugs, wiggling some more until she’s got her head pillowed on Roxas’ thigh. “Today was crap. I wanted some quiet time.”  
  
That connection flares between them when her little sister turns, pressing her lips to the wrinkle of denim between her thigh and calf. The look she gives Roxas isn’t something that Roxas is unaccustomed to seeing—hasn’t been for six months, but it still curdles strangely in her belly, half guilt, half something else.  
  
“That kind of quiet time?” Roxas whispers, no matter the fact that they’re alone, save for the trees, birds, and crawdads. “But it’s sweltering!”  
  
Xion snorts, rolling her eyes. “It’ll be cooler once you get your jeans off,” she says, rolling over and shifting forward until she’s half in Roxas’ lap. When she strokes Roxas’ jaw, her touch is strangely cool. Roxas huffs in surprise, pressing closer, greedy, and Xion laughs at her.   
  
She reaches for the zipper to Roxas’ jeans and Roxas lets her, hitching her hips up a bit so the zipper isn’t hidden in folds of fabric.   
  
They’ve done this before—done this here in fact, the little copse of trees sheltered enough that unless someone decided to walk through the park they wouldn’t be seen. It’s still new, though, the press of her sister’s skin against hers, the way her mouth looks parted around a gasp, the insistent fingers tugging her jeans over her hips. New enough that the feeling of wrongness still lingers just under her skin.  
  
She’s been with girls before, after the one boy she’d tried dating resulted in a lot of shouting and sexual awakenings on other side, but neither of the girls she’d fooled around with had felt like this.  
  
The dress Xion’s wearing makes it easy for Roxas to slide her hands up her sister’s thighs, between her legs, bumping her knuckles up against damp panties and making them tap dance over the fabric until Xion hisses and jerks the fabric to the side. She slides two fingers in to the knuckle, slick and easy as Xion gasps, clenching around her.  
  
It’s a fumbling thing, clawing her own jeans down around her ankles as Xion pushes her band shirt up her ribs, leaning in to suck one dusky nipple into her mouth. Roxas hasn’t progressed very far since she was fifteen, not on that front at least. Her tits are A cups at best, and sometimes she’s jealous that Xion’s already bigger than her, two years younger and already outgrowing a B cup. But it makes it easy for Xion to get a handful or two, flicking her thumbnail against Roxas’ nipple and giggling at the way her spine arches, too sensitive by far.  
  
They’ve made quick and easy into a science, rocking with each other beneath the trees in a gasping tangle of limbs—Xion going over the edge with three of Roxas’ fingers curling inside her and catching her breath for one moment, two, before she crawls into the space between Roxas’ thighs, licking inside and wringing an orgasm out of her before Roxas can fully muss her hair.  
  
They sit together afterwards and the guilt starts to fade into an itch, just a small thing that shouldn’t be bothered with. The gaps between the leaves turns the sunlight dappled and Roxas traces a sunbeam across her sister’s belly until Xion flicks her skirt back down.  
  
It’s never awkward though, the silence. Not with them.   
  
They fill the space between them with little gestures and smiles, communicating through their bodies alone, soaking in what little breeze they can.  
  
When the sun starts to sink beneath the horizon, Roxas sighs, flicking her cigarette into the woods and climbing to her feet. Already she can hear the stoner kids tromping around the playground, their laughter carrying on the wind.   
  
“Wanna join them?” Xion asks, accepting Roxas’ hand up with a small smile, brushing the grass from her skirt once she’s back on her feet.  
  
Any other day, Roxas might be tempted. Hayner and his sort aren’t bad, she likes them even. They’re located on that strange revolving wheel that flicks back and forth between friend and close acquaintance, but the night air is still ridiculously humid, and all she wants to do is wait for their mother to go to bed and climb down from the bunk bed they share and into Xion’s sheets. As tempting as a joint may be, it can wait for another day, when it’s cooler maybe, and her t-shirt isn’t sticking to her stomach, tacky and damp.   
  
She shakes her head, making sure they’re both presentable before setting out across the park, waving to Hayner as she goes.  
  
The car’s cooled off some without the sun beating down on it, but the seatbelt still burns when it touches her skin.  
  
“One last kiss, for the road,” Xion whispers, smiling over at her, already leaned over the middle console, waiting.  
  
Roxas returns the smile and leans forward to meet her.  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
